


Carry Your Warmth in My Arms

by maythecat12 (orphan_account)



Series: Cap-Ironman Bingo 2020 [3]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Depressed Steve Rogers, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Idiots in Love, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Insecure Tony Stark, Love, M/M, Not Actually Unrequited Love, if you look really closely
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-12
Updated: 2020-04-12
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:15:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23565157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/maythecat12
Summary: Steve always seems cold no matter how warm it is. Tony tries to help him. There's warmth, of course. There might be love.Alternatively, 5 times Tony lent Steve his clothes and 1 time he got something back.
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Series: Cap-Ironman Bingo 2020 [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1680772
Comments: 11
Kudos: 256
Collections: Captain America/Iron Man Bingo





	Carry Your Warmth in My Arms

**Author's Note:**

> Probably set sometime around the first Avengers. 
> 
> There's a part that could be interpreted as self-harm if you look really closely. 
> 
> For the Cap-IM Bingo Square N2: Sharing Clothes

They’re in the lab when Tony first notices it. It’s relatively warm, and Tony’s showing Steve some of his new designs when he realizes Steve’s shivering slightly.

“And these here are- whoa, Cap, you good?” 

Steve only stares back, slightly confused. “Yes?”

“Are you cold?” Tony asks, not buying his bullshit. 

“... no?” Steve tries and even Tony can tell it’s alie. 

“JARVIS, turn the heat up,” Tony orders and slides off his own jacket before wrapping it around Steve’s shoulders. It’s ridiculously small on him, but then again, that seems to be how Steve likes his clothes. 

Tony blames the pink on Steve’s cheeks on the heat. 

\---

Now that Tony’s looking, he notices it happens a lot. Steve never seems to be able to keep warm. Tony supposes it’s because of the ice - 70 years underwater surrounded by nothing but frigid temperature must be hell, so he has JARVIS turn up the heat a couple notches wherever Steve goes despite Clint’s protests.

He’s stirring his coffee when Steve walks in. The rest of the team is doing who knows what (though Tony has a slight suspicion that Clint’s prowling the vents again). Steve smiles at Tony fondly. Folded over an arm is Tony’s jacket.

“Keep it.” The words shoot out of Tony’s mouth before he has time to shove them into the filter he keeps somewhere in his head.

“What?” Steve’s relaxed expression morphs into one of confusion.

“Keep the jacket,” Tony gently sets down his cup on the counter and saunters over to Steve. He reaches down and snags the jacket playfully before pulling it around Steve. “There.”

“Thank you, Tony,” Steve says, and wow, when did they get this close? Steve’s lips are  _ right there _ and Tony has to resist the urge to just lean forward the slightest. He could pass it off as an accident. Tony’s mouth is dry and he swallows, and Steve’s eyes follow the movement. Steve’s cheeks are dusted lightly with pink, and Tony can’t help but grin spontaneously because Captain America is blushing. 

“Uh, no problem,” he replies a little too quickly when he realizes Steve is still staring at him. Tony flees the room - without his coffee. He’s running on caffeine and fumes again, and he needs it desperately.

Fuck. He would go back but he doesn’t want to risk seeing Steve again. Screw it. He goes back to tinkering with his newest designs, despite his muddy train of thought.

He must’ve dozed off at some point because, when he wakes up, he’s on the workshop couch with his jacket draped over him.

\---

Steve’s the one who drags him out of the lab this time, for movie night. It’s usually him, actually, but sometimes Bruce does it. Except, this time, Steve physically  _ drags  _ him out. Sort of. Tony’s not really paying attention to what Steve’s saying about team-bonding and whatnot when his tablet’s being tugged out of his grip and a warm hand closes around his wrist and begins to drag him towards the door.

“Wha-” Tony looks up and, oh, it’s Steve. “Hi.” He grins and, before he can stop himself, he taps Steve gently on the nose. “Boop.”

“Hi, Tony,” Steve smiles fondly and stops pulling Tony out of the lab. “We’re having a movie night.”

“Oh,” Tony frowns, “do I need to be there?”

“I’d like it if you were.”

Tony stares at him for a moment, unable to comprehend what Steve just said. Steve wants him there.  _ Steve wants him there. _

“Okay.” The smile returns and he lets Steve lead him to the communal floor. His grip is loose around Tony’s wrist but there nonetheless. When they get there, the TV is already on, some movie flashing across the screen. 

There’s some room on the couch left - should be just enough for two people, and he plops down and pats the spot next to him. Steve squeezes in and turns his attention to the screen. 

Tony tries to watch the movie, he really does, but Steve is right next to him, leg pressed against Tonys, fingers brushing Tony’s wrist. Tony could snake an arm around him and no one would know. Well, no one but the two of them. Absentmindedly, he begins to trace patterns on the back of Steve’s hand with his finger. He feels Steve shift slightly. Fuck. But then the pressure against his thigh is a little more forceful - Steve’s moving closer - and his hand moves onto Tony’s thigh. He turns his head and looks at Steve, the two of them smiling in unison.

Bruce coughs and excuses himself to the bathroom, murmuring something about sexual tension being obvious. Tony ignores him. His temporary exit leaves more room on the couch, anyway.

With the two of them this close, Tony can feel Steve shivering slightly. Tony’s wearing the jacket right now, and wordlessly, he places it gently on Steve’s lap. It’s Steve’s choice whether he wants to wear it. 

Steve smiles at Tony, one of those smiles that fills his belly with warmth, and he slides his arms into the sleeves and tugs the jacket around him. 

“I told you you could keep it,” Tony whispers, a little too loud, since Clint glares at him. 

Steve smiles even harder and Tony thinks that there’s pink on his cheeks. It’s worth Clint glaring at him, heck, it’s worth Clint glaring at him a hundred times.

\---

Tony watches Steve out of the corner of his eye as he pretends to study something on his tablet. His muscles ripple underneath his white tank top as he attacks the punching bag, sending swing after swing after swing. 

With a final punch, the bag rips off the hook and breaks, sand spilling from the broken material. He reaches for the bag, shoulders heaving, and Tony sees the tear tracks. He watches as another tear rolls down Steve’s cheek. When Steve reaches for another bag, Tony sees that he hasn’t wrapped his hands - probably on purpose - and his knuckles are raw and bleeding.

“Steve.” Tony’s voice is firm yet questioning. He grabs a roll of bandages and makes his way to Steve, who slumps against the wall, looking defeated. “Why are you doing this?”

He reaches down for Steve’s hand, but Steve pulls away. “The serum will heal it anyway,” he protests. “It’ll be gone by tomorrow.”

“Let me,” Tony insists, and this time, Steve lets him. Softly, he begins to wrap the bandages around Steve’s hands, first one, and then the other. He’s tempted to bring Steve’s hand to his lips and kiss the wounds, but he bites back the urge. Steve doesn’t see him that way. He’d probably be appalled, or even worse, disgusted. 

“There,” he says when he’s finally done, “If you’re going to keep punching, keep those on.” He expects Steve to laugh or smile or just ignore him. Instead, Steve’s face crumples.

“Tony,” his voice is anguished, “I- I can’t do this.” Selfishly, Tony immediately feels his stomach sink. Has Steve noticed? “Everything’s so… different and-”

Oh. 

“Steve, hey, Steve,” Tony reaches up and gently wipes a tear from Steve’s cheek, “it’s okay. I’m here if you need me.” He pulls Steve into a hug, patting his back in what he hopes is a soothing manner. Steve buries his face in Tony’s shoulder and Tony can hear the muffled sobs. It concerns Tony - Steve never seems to break his Captain facade. What happened? Steve’s arms tighten around Tony as he clings onto him. Tony doesn’t mind the sweat and tears. He’s hugging Steve. Steve’s hugging him back. That’s what matters.

“Tony, I-” he chokes out, “I don’t know how to do this.” 

“I’ll help you,” Tony responds, speaking the truth, “I’ll help you figure out how.”

Steve takes a shuddering breath and pulls away. “Tony, I- I… thank you.”

“Anything for you, Cap,” Tony teases, but it’s really the truth. He looks at Steve in the eye. Gosh, his eyes are beautiful, even filled with tears. Steve opens his mouth slightly, as if about to say something, but he doesn’t. Tony looks away - he can’t do this, not now - and that’s when he notices the blood on the edge of Steve’s shirt.

His fingers brush the fabric, and he tugs it closer to him. The blood seems to be rather fresh - not that Tony would know - but considering Steve’s tendencies to keep everything clean and tidy, he seriously doubts that Steve would leave blood on his clothes. In his head, he can Steve standing in front of the bag, slamming his fists into it until his knuckles start bleeding, then fisting his hands into the fabric of his shirt to stop the pain or the blood. The image hurts to think about, so he focuses on other things.

“Steve,” he says firmly, “I’m going to get you a new shirt, okay?”

“It’s fine, Tony,” Steve replies a little too quickly. Tony ignores him and walks towards where he keeps his random stuff in the gym. Maybe he has an extra shirt or a tank top that’s too big. He’d noticed that Steve was shivering slightly, too. Fuck. He doesn’t have a jacket this time.

“JARVIS, do I have an extra shirt or something somewhere? And where do I keep the water in here?” Tony asks while searching. “Also, can you turn the heat up?”

“Sir, there is a black tank top which appears to be yours in the wardrobe over there. And you keep the bottled water in the refrigerator.”

Tony grabs his tank top out of the wardrobe - thank god, it's one of the bigger ones - and takes two bottles of water from the fridge before returning to Steve, whose cheeks are slightly pink. It’s hot in the gym. Not… the other thing.

He curls his fingers under the edge of Steve’s tank top before pulling it up slightly. To Tony’s surprise, Steve doesn’t protest, he just lifts his arms to allow Tony to pull it over his head, exposing defined muscle. He’s gorgeous. Tony tries not to let his gaze linger as he pulls his own tank top over Steve’s chest, but he fails. 

Tony’s tank is small on Steve, but it’s probably better than a bloody shirt. It rides up over the waistband of his sweatpants and the fabric looks stretched over his chest. In other words, it doesn’t leave too much for the imagination. 

Seeing Steve in his clothing releases a coil of warmth in Tony’s stomach and he wants to kiss Steve until his breath comes in gasps and his lips are swollen and bruised and then make him come apart before putting him back together again. He swallows down his thoughts and hands Steve a bottle of water, watching as the water flows past Steve’s open lips and then Steve’s Adam’s apple bobbing up and down as he swallows. It does nothing to help Tony’s state of mind. 

Maybe he should say something. About love. About Steve. After all, what’s the worst that can happen? Steve might only have a vague memory of what happened tomorrow. Tony opens his mouth to speak but something different comes out.

“Please don’t hurt yourself, Steve. I’m here for you.”

\---

“Steve’s been hit. Multiple times.” Natasha’s tone is neutral but Tony can sense the worry behind it. 

“Where?” Tony asks. He’s not as good as hiding his worry, and anyone can hear the note of distress in his voice.

“He’s on the seventh floor, one of the balconies.” She pauses. “He’s been hit in the shoulder and twice in the chest. And that’s what I know.”

“Are you with him?” Tony asks.

“He radioed in.” Nat doesn’t answer his question, but Tony doesn’t care. He’s blasting towards the seventh floor with as much power as he can. Like Natasha said, on one of the balconies, there’s someone in blue slinging a shield at attackers. Another gunshot rings out and Steve doubles over for a moment and then slams his shield into the shooter. Tony flies into one of them before firing his repulsors in quick succession and disabling the rest of them.

Steve’s hunched over the railing, wincing in pain. Blood stains the front of his uniform - in multiple places, actually - soaking the fabric. Tony’s caught somewhere between worry and anger.

“I told you not to hurt yourself,” Tony murmurs softly, and Steve groans in pain. Tony scoops him up as gently as he can and flies them out of there.

On the flight back, he and Nat do what they can to stop the bleeding but they can’t risk taking out the bullets, not with their limited medical equipment. Tony hopes they make it to Medical fast enough that the wounds don’t heal - with the bullets still inside. 

Once they make it, the doctors are on him in a second, prepping to take out the bullets. Tony knows that Steve will most likely be fully conscious the entire time, and it causes his stomach to clench with worry. He stands in the corner, watching Steve’s face contort with agony as they dig out one, two, three, four bullets and begin to finish up, applying bandages and whatnot, and after what feels like an eternity, Steve’s alone on the bed. He’s asleep and he looks so small and fragile, wrapped up in bandages and tucked underneath a blanket, an IV taped to his arm. When Tony moves closer, he realizes Steve is shivering despite the blanket. A surge of protectiveness washes over him and he strips off the jacket he is wearing - fuck, why is medical so cold - and tucks it around Steve. With some difficulty, he manages to get it under him and he pulls the edges around Steve’s broad shoulders before he finally wraps the blanket tighter around Steve.

When he’s sure Steve’s still asleep, he runs a hand through Steve’s hair, tenderly working through the tangles, and then Tony leans over and brushes a kiss on Steve’s forehead before leaving Steve to rest.

\---

Goddamn this mission. They’re at a bunker, and sure, it’s winter and it’s up north, but no one said anything about the wind and the snowstorm. Flakes of snow rain down on them as they tear apart the defenses. It’s cold and wet, and Tony hates it. He can almost sense Steve shivering, and his gut clenches in concern. Steve’s just dressed in his standard uniform, which should keep him warm, but… 

_ Focus. _

Tony blasts the doors apart and flies in, firing his repulsors in a quick series of blasts, knocking out the guards. He zooms down the stone halls, drawing nearer to an area that seems to be more heavily guarded. Well, not for long. 

Cautiously, he pushes open the doors. The room is dark, shadowed in a purple glow. There are rows and rows of shelves, towering from floor to ceiling. And on them are weapons - some appear to be standard machine guns but others… others look entirely alien.

He’s surveying the area, when something large and metal hits the back of his head, sending a sharp burst of pain. Wincing, he whirls and fires a blast towards the direction, but large hands clamp around his arms and bring them behind his back, and he struggles to free himself, thrashing and kicking. He lands a solid strike on whoever’s pinning his arms down but someone else slams a large, metal crate into him, and he goes flying backwards onto the ground, landing hard, the impact jolting him. 

Someone stands over him and rams something into his chest. The metal bends and drives into his stomach and digs into his skin. Gritting his teeth through the pain, Tony tries to drag himself up. A large, metal rod slams into the side of his head and the world goes fuzzy. Distantly, he can hear someone calling his name. Metal-tipped boots meet the sides of his chest, and instinctively, he curls in on himself. The rod strikes again, catching him on the side of his face. Groaning, without moving from the ground, he raises a hand and fires a beam at what he hopes is somebody. There’s a flash of light and a grunt of pain, signaling that he’s hit his target. He tries to fire again but there’s another sickening slam to his head and everything goes dark for a second. Tony tastes blood, but he doesn’t know from what. He hears someone curse, and the rod slams across his jaw and everything goes black.

He’s not sure how long he’s out, but the moment the light hits his eyes, he thrashes out, catching whoever’s holding him in the chest and on the chin. 

“Tony, you’re safe,” someone says, “it’s me.”

Oh. 

“Steve?” he blinks his vision into focus and finds Steve’s blue eyes staring down at him with worry. “Are you- what happened?”

“I walked onto some guys beating you up.” Steve clenches his jaw. “They’ve been taken care of.” He brushes his thumb lightly over a cut on Tony’s cheek, the touch sending a sea of butterflies into his stomach. It’s only then that Tony realizes the position they're in. He’s in Steve’s arms, head on Steve’s shoulder, on the floor of the quinjet. 

“Where’s the armor?” he asks, noticing that he’s just in his shirt and it’s  _ cold.  _ He shivers slightly, and Steve brings him closer slightly and he’s really warm, like an oven, and Tony curls into his chest, letting the warmth seep in.

“We had to take it off to assess damage,” Steve answers, “You were knocked out.”

“Yeah I figured that much,” Tony shifts in Steve’s arms and throws a quick look around the quinjet. “Do I have an extra jacket or something? Wait, no, I didn’t bring one. Oops.”

Steve rolls his eyes and gently sets Tony onto the floor before tugging his arms out of the sleeves of his own jacket. Before Tony can protest, Steve drapes the jacket over Tony’s shoulders and drags his arms through the sleeves before he pulls Tony back onto him. The jacket’s big on Tony, but it’s warm and it’s Steve’s. It smells like bar soap and clean laundry and part of Tony wants to laugh because of course it does - it’s Steve.

He relaxes into Steve, burying his face into the crook of Steve’s neck.  _ Just let me have this one moment.  _ Steve runs a hand through Tony’s hair before pulling him away slightly. Tony looks up at Steve, and the edge of Steve’s mouth quirks up. He leans forward and his lips ghost Tony’s forehead. He pulls away and winks, fucking  _ winks.  _ It’s so reminiscent of that one time in Medical and-

“You bastard,” Tony accuses, “you were awake that entire time, weren’t you?”

Steve laughs in response. “Maybe.” Tony glares at him. “Okay, yeah. But I liked it. You were very sweet.”

“You liked it?” Tony sputters.

“Of course I liked it, Tony,” Steve’s fingers massage Tony’s scalp gently, “It’s you.”

“What do you mean it’s me?” 

“Can the two idiots in love resolve their sexual tension before we have to debrief?” Natasha calls from the cockpit.

“Hey!” Tony protests, but he and Steve are both laughing. “But what do you mean it’s me?” he continues, “‘Me’ is not a good person.”

“That’s a lie, Tony,” Steve tugs him back into the hug, but Tony’s gaze doesn’t leave Steve’s eyes, “You are an amazing person. Everything about you is so  _ good, _ despite what you say. I like everything about you.”

Tony doesn’t believe him. “Really?” 

“Really. How could I not?”

“So you haven’t been oblivious to what I’ve been doing?” the heat creeps up his cheeks and he knows Steve’s noticed because now Steve’s smiling crookedly at him.

“You haven’t noticed?” Steve gestures to what he’s wearing. Oh. Tony’s mouth seems to have suddenly gone dry. Steve’s in his jacket, the one he gave Steve that first day in the lab, the one that Steve draped over him, the one that he willingly put on at movie night. It must’ve been under the leather jacket that Tony’s currently wrapped in. The fabric looks stretched slightly but seeing Steve in his clothing… a shudder of desire and possessiveness runs through Tony.

He’s not sure who leans in first, but Steve’s lips are on his and they’re kissing. Steve’s hands cup the sides of his face and Tony threads a hand through Steve’s hair. His tongue runs along the seam of his mouth and Steve’s lips part. It’s bliss, he’s in heaven right now, as Steve makes small, choked off noises underneath him. 

“Barton, do you want to check on the two lovebirds in the back? Make sure they have their pants on?” Natasha calls out.

Steve and Tony break apart, cheeks heated and hair messy, both panting, as Clint glances around, his smirk suggesting he knows what they’ve been doing.

“They’re not naked!” Clint yells back and the pink on Steve’s cheeks darken. Tony grins lopsidedly, first at Steve, then at Clint.

“Not yet,” he winks, and he pulls Steve in again, who gasps, and Tony takes the opportunity to shove his tongue in and devour his mouth in a filthy kiss. 

“Oh my god, my eyes!” Judging by the sound of his footsteps, Clint has dashed back into the cockpit. Steve laughs, breaking the kiss, and brings their foreheads together, looking at Tony with such love and adoration that it melts Tony’s heart. He pulls the jacket tighter around Tony and tugs the zipper up.

“I love you, Tony.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Come yell at me on [tumblr](https://maythecat12.tumblr.com/)


End file.
